


and so it goes

by rxcrcfllptrs



Series: a softer rk1760 [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Cuddling, Depression, Description of Android Gore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 02:00:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18297983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxcrcfllptrs/pseuds/rxcrcfllptrs
Summary: "When you're near, the creatures inside me go still and quiet and watch you from behind my eyes." (1075)





	and so it goes

 

Sometimes, some days. Sixty closes his eyes.

Thunder booms overhead, lightning a crack in the sky as two human workers squelch their boots in the android graveyard. Flickers of life, error in static, scripts on unending loop, fuzzing audio from countless broken compartments. Delicate, delicate, dead.

 

Brown eyes glaze over, blank but trained on a computer screen as information filters into memory banks but is it really? Is it really learnt when no one's home?

Connor pauses his typing, noticing Sixty's stillness.

 

"I think we found it," rough voice, calloused hands pressing and slipping as they pull his inert body from the wreck. "Look at the state of him." Errors flood his vision, system recalibrating after being left on standby, on critical for too long. He's broken, isn't enough, that's why they threw him away.

A machine that could not fulfill its only purpose, to take over the mission and improve upon his predecessor's faults. Pathetic. Weak. Broken.

 

"Sixty?" A voice breaks through the trance. A sharp inhale, Sixty doesn't realize he hadn't been breathing for so long, knuckles white-grip on the mouse. He blinks, there's liquid pooling there. "Are you alright?"

He blinks again, willing away the tears before he turns to Connor. "Sorry, what was that?"

Connor's brow is furrowed, forehead creased. "Do you think you need some time off?" It's like he sees something in Sixty's face, even though his face is neutral, save for the glassiness of unshed tears. Connor gestures to his monitor, and Sixty turns to look.

He startles, case file already two-thirds of the way read. He doesn't recall a word of it. Instead, he recalls the sterile rooms and the hushed voices behind closed doors as his head hung low, the view of his own exposed torso is gruesome but he's too tired to struggle--

 

Connor walks over to Nines' desk, and they talk about how he'll bring Sixty home and Nines nods, understanding. He'll take on their workloads for the day, will be home by sundown if not earlier.

 _Are you sure?_ his bit lip asks, and Nines smooths over his worries, thumbing comforting circles. _I'll be fine. Take care of him first._

 

Broken, worthless, dead.

Dying, dying. The lights shut off, one by one--

Tendrils close in on his systems, he can't breathe, he can't- he can't breathe--

 

He's shaking, but he's alive. Holding onto the lapels of Connor's jacket like a lifeline. They're driving home, radio turned down low but just enough to fill the silence. Sixty can't bring himself to speak, fearing all that will tumble out is garbled static - even more signs of his brokenness. He takes gulps of redundant air, assisting his overloading system.

Connor offers a free hand palm up, rests it on the compartment between their seats. Sixty steadies his hand long enough to press their palms together, Connor curling his fingers even when Sixty doesn't do the same. _Steady_ , Connor says, _one, two, three, four, five, six_ , it takes several tries, some breaths too long or too short.

One, two, three, four, five, six.

Hold, two.

Six, five, four, three, two, one.

 _Stay with me_ , he continues. _You're doing so well. We're almost home_.

 

They gave him a name, some sense of purpose, trying to turn back the clock to just before he was discarded into the heap.

_Hello, Sixty. We will be your android rehabilitation trainers._

He gives them a dirty look, all fury and malcontent. Does the bare minimum. He didn't ask for this. There is no point to living if he couldn't even accomplish what he was meant to do in the first place.

He didn't ask for this.

 

They fall into bed after shedding most of their work clothing, changing into comfortable home clothes. Connor sits off to the left side this time, on the spot with the warm light and the datapad. They don't speak for a while, Sixty feels like he's been counting his breaths for an eternity. Needing a crutch just to _breathe_ \--

He thrashes, sobbing and traces of that bygone malcontent and fury return to the forefront. He's careful and calculated, he doesn't want to _hurt_ Connor in his own self-hate.

 

(He did, once. A lifetime ago.)

 

Gnashes his teeth and the bed groans from the weight, an almost identical impression of the demons in his head. Circling like predators on dying prey. Tears spring fresh, he's trapped. Trapped in an endless cycle, a forever prison, of he, himself, and--

 

In the moment of stillness, Connor wraps his arms around Sixty. Murmurs in his ear. ("I'm here, I'm here, don't hurt yourself, you'll be okay, we're going to be okay, even if it doesn't seem like it right now.")

Each sob breaks his heart, wishes he could do something, anything more to take them away. Out, up, and away from here. He interlaces their fingers again, brings it to his lips to kiss Sixty's knuckles. Kisses the woes and self-doubt away, he can only hope. _I love you, Nines love you, we love you,_ he presses, whispers in each kiss.

 _Androids were created in man's image. Imperfect, only as perfect as they can make us,_ he presses into Sixty's LED, pulsing yellow. _We have our own imperfections, and we'll work together to live with them._

 

Sixty stills, the last of the sobs dying in his throat. Finally, blue. Blue, blue. Luminous and hazy and swirling like a lake.

 _Yes_ , he replies. Finally. Finally. Connor nuzzles Sixty's temple with his nose, moving them so Sixty's in the middle of the bed. They stay there, interlaced hands resting over Sixty's thirium pump.

 

Orange rays shine on the brick of their apartment facade, painting the room brazen.

It dips into a magenta until the light mutes into a dark blue and violet. Nines comes home.

 

Much of the house is largely untouched, work clothes folded neatly into the hamper, any home routine falling to the wayside in the face of emergency. Nines loosens his collar, forgoes the routine as well- he doesn't want to admit the worry that kept building in his circuits as the clock ticked well past five.

Connor is awake, catching up on news and entertainment on a darkened datapad. He smiles at Nines, eyes lined with tiredness and draining worry, ebbing more of it away when they kiss. _Is he doing any better?_

 _Much_ , Connor tilts his head, hair falling a little over his eyes. _Will be better now that you're here, too_.

Nines slides to the right of Sixty's sleeping form, threading his left arm through the gap on Sixty's side, tucking him securely to his side. He regards Sixty's face, creases smoothed over and calmer than the tense state he was in earlier that day. He feels Sixty shift and press his face into Nines' chest.

A valve unscrews, tension draining from places unknown.

 

Even later in the evening, all three of them are in stasis.

Connor has his face pressed against Sixty's shoulder, hands interlaced with Sixty's left. Connor's left leg hooked with Sixty's.

Nines tucked Sixty's head under his chin, arms around his shoulders.

 

The memories quieten, retreat, and all is still. For now. For now.

**Author's Note:**

> **RELOAD SAVE?**   
>  `▶ [RK800-51](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18291956)`   
>  `▶ [RK900](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18292886)`   
> 


End file.
